It feels really good

Bai An rubbed her brow.

A flicker of weariness passed through the depths of her crimson demonic eyes.

Truth be told, the conditions by which Bai An could now judge Lucia dead were only two.

Meager enough to unsettle the heart.

First, the power sealing her mana—imposed by Lucia—had dissipated within her body.

Second, the widespread rumor of “fallen in battle.”

But had she truly died?

The seal’s release meant the imposer’s power had utterly severed.

Direct evidence.

But as the saying goes: for the living, show a person; for the dead, show a corpse!

Up to now, Bai An had never heard where Lucia’s body might be.

Nor had anyone seemed inclined to mention it.

After all, a seal imposer could also release it themselves.

And if the Demon Clan had truly slain Lucia, parading her corpse for humiliation…

That would be the likeliest course.

This defied all reason!

Bai An knew the Demon Clan’s nature all too well.

If the Demon Lords had truly banded together to kill a Hero of Lucia’s caliber—the pinnacle of human might and spiritual pillar—it would surely be an unprecedented revelry.

Her head would dangle from the highest flagpole.

Her armor dismantled into trophies touring the Demon Lords’ domains.

Her remains perhaps preserved as specimens or fodder for dark rites by some zealous or cruel Demon Lord…

All to shatter human morale to the utmost.

Proclaiming the Demon Clan’s dread power.

This was the conquest and vengeance etched into the Demon Clan’s bones.

But how could it be so silent now?

As if Lucia had simply evaporated into thin air.

Leaving only a rumor of “battle death”?

But on this matter, even Lucia couldn’t clarify.

Or rather, the Winter Territory hadn’t received much insider intel.

So, had Lucia simply survived gravely wounded, gone into hiding?

Had humans employed some inconceivable means to preserve her “sanctity”?

Or within the Demon Clan…

Was some faction deliberately concealing it?

Each possibility tangled like a knot of yarn.

Leaving Vivian unavoidably vexed.

But the current Vivian had no time to delve deeper.

After all, she could scarcely manage her own affairs.

Under the dim yellow glow of the magic crystal lamp, Vivian set down the final report on Blackrock Town’s crystal vein preliminary yield estimates.

Tonight’s labors could at last pause.

“Hah…”

A turbid breath, heavy with pent-up pressure, exhaled slowly.

As if expelling the闷 in her chest along with it.

Vivian rose.

The stiffness from prolonged sitting spread through her joints.

With a mere thought, her mana surged obediently from within.

The soft sleep robe upon her instantly gave way to deep-purple Demon Lord regalia.

Cloaking her slender yet upright frame.

Then, she parted the heavy tent flap.

Night wind rushed in at once.

Bearing the camp’s distinctive scents—sweat, earth, the dampness of unseasoned timber, aromas of food wafting from afar—all assaulting her senses in turn.

Evernight City under reconstruction held sparse lights.

But no longer utter desolation.

Faint echoes of hammering and weary chatter drifted from afar.

Vivian departed her tent unhurriedly.

Heading outward.

“Demon Lord, is something the matter?”

“Nothing—just sat too long, bones all stiff.

Out for some air, a casual stroll.”

Seeming to sense Vivian’s movement, mere moments after she left her tent, a figure materialized at her side.

Like a shadow melding with the night.

Silent, yet swift beyond measure.

The ever-loyal head maid, Aria, appeared before her with uncanny speed.

At the sight of Aria before her, Vivian’s nerves eased a touch.

Then she replied with a light chuckle.

Even as she spoke, her gaze settled on the pair of fox ears atop Aria’s head.

Twitching faintly in the night breeze, cloaked in fine black down.

Thus, Vivian couldn’t resist reaching out.

With an almost affectionate gesture, she gently rubbed Aria’s ear.

The warmth, the heft, the lively bounce and downy softness.

All transmitted perfectly to her fingertips.

‘Feels nice.’

She thought to herself.

“Walk with me.

Sat at work too long—need to stretch my legs.”

“Yes, Demon Lord.”

Caught off-guard, Aria’s body stiffened subtly for a moment.

Then swiftly regained composure.

She inclined her head with an impassive nod in reply.

Yet the tips of those naturally perked ears quivered rapidly, almost imperceptibly.

Betraying a flash of bashfulness.

In the beginning, when Vivian incessantly fondled Aria’s ears, the head maid had flustered and blushed in panic.

But now, she had grown accustomed to her liege’s itchy fingers.

Or rather, acquiesced to this little quirk of the Demon Lord.

Viewing it as a special mark of trust and closeness.

Yet those reddening ear roots still betrayed that the head maid was far from unmoved.

Leaving her tent, Vivian led Aria along the makeshift cleared paths.

They slowly circled the periphery of the reconstructing Evernight City.

Completing a loop.

A full month had passed since the crusade army’s withdrawal.

Wherever her eyes fell, the once-mountainous ruins and rubble had mostly been cleared away.

Revealing the somewhat blackened soil beneath.

Simple plank houses, shanties of charred wood and mud.

Like mushrooms after rain.

Sprouted in clusters on the cleared lots.

Pitifully crude.

Yet at least offering shelter from wind and rain to the displaced denizens.

A “home.”

Granted to the patrolling soldiers outside.

And to those civilians who had excelled in reconstruction labors.

Meriting better rest.

A subtle tilt in resource allocation.

A silent incentive.

In the distance, newly tilled fields took on dark silhouettes under the hazy moonlight.

Not barren, but sown with seeds of hardy, barren-tolerant crops unique to Demon Clan territories: [Darkblood Wheat], [Kinkedroot], [Gray Lettuce], and more.

The air carried the scent of freshly turned earth.

Laced with faint, vital pulses of mana.

Wood-attuned Demon Clansfolk, carefully channeling faint natural mana to nourish these fragile sprouts.

Urging them to root and grow swifter on this ravaged soil.

The once-destroyed and clogged irrigation channels had been reopened.

Murky river water, laboriously diverted, now meandered along field edges.

Precious for irrigation.

Yet potable water remained scarce.

The Frost Banshees toiled overtime, conjuring ice blocks and purified sources.

The dispatched Demon Clan squads had largely reconnected with other villages and settlements in the territory.

They were still tallying populations.

But most hamlets fared poorly.

Beyond the lack of merchants and trade flows for goods, some teetered on the brink of famine.